


A Malfoy and A Potter Walk Into a Pub

by maddieee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Drunk confessions, Flirting, Getting Together, M/M, Original Character(s), Post Hogwarts, Prompt Fic, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, actually it's me lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 06:17:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14396076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddieee/pseuds/maddieee
Summary: “Hm,” Malfoy hummed, eyelids drooping, and a satisfied smile softened the lines and planes of his face. “It’s a favourite. Why do you think I like riling you up so much back then?”“Because you’re an arsehole?” Harry supplied with a roll of his eyes and a smirk.Malfoy tutted, clicking his tongue twice, “Because I liked you glaring at me. So…intense.”---I forgot where I got it, but the prompt was that Harry's in the pub while Draco walks up to him, all drunk, and confesses that he had a crush on him since Hogwarts.





	A Malfoy and A Potter Walk Into a Pub

“Come here often?”

Harry grimaced at the way the words slurred into each other, and he tensed when the shadow of the man casted over him.

The din of the pub was loud as usual, Muggles talking and laughing after a long day, teasing, complaining, retelling stories. He loved the anonymity this haunt gave him, and he had been going here for Merlin know how long. He would get come-ons like this, but he found that his answering silence would effectively bore them at some point.

The cold shoulder didn’t seem to work this time.

“Oh bugger. Stop being such a bloody prude, Potter. It’s me.”

Harry whipped around on his seat by the bar, his whiskey sloshing inside his cup dangerously, eyes wide and instantly wary at the use of his name, and he came face to face with Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy grinned at him, cheeks flushed and eyes narrowed in concentration, “Miss me?”

A very drunk Draco Malfoy.

He was half leaning on the chair, half almost toppling over, blonde hair surprisingly messy, and a few buttons of his white dress shirt were opened. Something tugged on Harry’s gut at the sight, his eyes taking in the slender legs clothed in black trousers, but he willed it away, immediately regretting thinking that Malfoy looked… well, he looked good. again. And he looked like he was really waiting for Harry to let him sit. Harry sighed and inclined his head, earning a truly drunk giggle from Malfoy. He sat down next to Harry, banging his glass--an almost finished scotch on the rocks--on the table.

“A Muggle pub, Potter, really?” Malfoy asked incredulously, but then he looked thoughtful and shook his head, “Then again, not a revelation. Probably here to avoid your millions of fans, you famous git.”

With a groan, Harry rolled his eyes, glancing at his former bully,  “Look, Malfoy, if you don’t have anything good to say--”

“Did you know that you have really, really green eyes?”

“What?”

“They’re really, really pretty.”

Malfoy was leaning closer to him now, his body faced Harry completely, and he was looking at him intently. Malfoy’s hands were between his thighs, holding the seat under him to maintain balance. Harry was worried for a few seconds that Malfoy might really fall over, but Malfoy’s sudden focus on him just made him squirm.

“Like my mother’s, yeah.” Harry murmured, taking a sip of his drink, feeling the burn go down his throat. His thumbs kept rubbing the rim of it, and he thinks-- _ hopes  _ that the heat on his cheeks was because of the alcohol.

But Malfoy shook his head, leaning over a bit more, “I’ve seen Lily Potter’s eyes in pictures. They’re not like yours. Yours are too pretty.”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed, struggling to find the right response to that statement. No one has ever told him that his eyes looked better than his mum’s. Or that they were  _ pretty _ . Judging by Malfoy’s glazed look and swaying countenance, Harry passed it off as a drunken compliment. He could only hope it was. What was Malfoy getting up to, really?

They’ve exchanged pleasantries before after the war, during Ministry galas that Harry was forced to go to. Malfoy would be there to some of them, mingling and smiling at the other witches or wizards who cared enough to talk to him. They were hesitant at first, but after a few seconds of conversation, Malfoy had them eating at the palm of his hands. Harry knew his statement during the trials helped Malfoy’s family, but it seemed like Malfoy was the one to fully repair whatever damage his father had caused.

Yes, he found that Malfoy looked good then--pristine formal robes with colours that seemed to make him stand out--and he always dressed smartly. He liked talking with former Slytherins, but he was finally included in a particular circle of gossiping witches lately. Which was good for his reputation, probably. He also liked the punch the last time they attended a gala.

They talked, comments on the weather and on the state of Ministry. But Malfoy would leave Harry to his drink with a careful nod as officials would whisk him away to talk about politics or such crap. Their small talk felt stilted or forced for Harry then. He assumed Malfoy made conversations so that he could show to anyone how he’s changed by playing nice with Harry. All for his advantage.

Now, however, Harry wasn’t sure how to react. Outside the ballrooms and without the formalities, what does Malfoy want to achieve with this?

“I’ve always liked seeing them when we were in Hogwarts. Remember Hogwarts?”

He huffed a laugh and shook his head, flat out amused now, “Malfoy, yes, I remember it. We graduated Eighth Year just a few years ago--wait, did you say you liked seeing my eyes?”

“Hm,” Malfoy hummed, eyelids drooping, and a satisfied smile softened the lines and planes of his face. “It’s a favourite. Why do you think I like riling you up so much back then?”

“Because you’re an arsehole?” Harry supplied with a roll of his eyes and a smirk.

Malfoy tutted, clicking his tongue twice, “Because I liked you glaring at me. So…  _ intense _ .”

His face was thoroughly flushed now, and he licked his pink lips at some memory unknown to Harry. Malfoy’s returning smirk had Harry swallowing, and he had to look away and take a drink from his glass. He was hoping to pass the warmth in his stomach and the sudden urge to kiss the man before him as some alcohol-induced attraction. Kiss  _ Malfoy _ ? Ridiculous.

“I wonder what it’s like if you fucked me with your eyes open.”

Harry almost spit his drink, and he turned to Malfoy, gaping. Did he just say what Harry thought he said? But Malfoy merely tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing as they raked over Harry’s body and his smirk grew into a heated grin. The flush had reached his neck, to the exposed skin the opened buttons shown. He looked like a smooth and sleek devil. A demon on a mission to ravage Harry.

So why was Harry still sitting here and not running away?

“You’re drunk, Malfoy.” Harry pointed out, shaking his head, “Go home.”

“What if I’m not?”

Harry looked at him, eyebrows scrunching in doubt, and Malfoy shrugged, “What if I’m just pretending to be drunk so I could finally get you to ask me out? What if I’m just pretending because I’ve been fucking wondering how you would taste, Potter, since Hogwarts? What if I wanted to because I’ve seen the way you look at me at the Ministry galas we attended?”

“Are you bloody serious?”

“If you want me to be.”

Harry stared at Malfoy, watching the other man cross his legs and rub his index finger on his lips. He didn’t know what to say to that. Yes, he had noticed Malfoy, noticed how his clothes seemed to fit him too well or how his neck would stretch ever so delicately when he’s turning to talk to someone. But does it mean that he wants to do anything with and to him?

If the way his body thrummed at the idea of them on a bed or on a sofa, naked and writhing, was any evidence, then yes, yes he would want to.

Instead of answering, Harry turned to the other side and lifted a finger to signal to the bartender, getting her attention. He pointed at Malfoy’s drink and his, and the bartender, Madelene, came over with a bottle in hand, a knowing smile on her face.

"This the first time I saw you let someone sit next to you.” She commented, eyes sliding over to Malfoy, “I must say, out of everyone who tried to, I can see why you did.”

Harry shook his head with a small laugh, “He’s just someone from school, Maddie.”

Malfoy lifted an eyebrow at that and rested an elbow on the bar, placing his cheek on his palm, “Just someone from school, ‘ey? Don’t you think our history grows  _ deeper _ than that?”

“Oh really?” Madelene laughed as she wiped Harry and Malfoy’s area, eyes twinkling, “You boys enjoy now. And remember: use protection.”

She left a very astonished Harry and a smug Malfoy, one watching her go and the other still staring at the former.

“Draco!” A woman called out behind them, and Harry looked to see that it was Parkinson, hands on her hips, foot tapping on the hardwood floor, “You said we’d go back after you went to the loo. Just what are you--Potter, is that you?”

Malfoy sighed and smirked at Harry, “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

As he stepped off his seat though, he stumbled, and Harry’s arms automatically reached out for him, going around his waist and resting on his back. Malfoy’s face nestled into Harry’s neck, and Harry could feel the skin there tingling with each breath Malfoy took. Malfoy’s hair felt soft, a nice surprise for Harry, and he resisted the urge to run his fingers through them.

He looked down at Malfoy to ask if he was okay, but Malfoy had this small smile on him, eyes of silver flashing up at Harry with this want. This  _ hunger _ . Harry’s body suddenly felt like it was on fire, his throat was dry, his heart was racing, and he could feel his arousal building up quickly.

“Come home with me.”

Harry didn’t realize that it was him who spoke the words until Malfoy nodded, softly speaking, “Okay.”

Without so much as a look at Parkinson, Harry took Malfoy’s hand and led him out of the pub. He swore he could hear Parkinson disgruntled sigh and Madelene’s cheer as the door closed behind them. He hauled Malfoy toward the Apparition point in the nearby alley, but before he could Apparate, he pulled Malfoy close and captured those lips with his mouth.

Malfoy’s answering moan did wonders to Harry, and he let his fingers delve into Malfoy’s hair, just like how he wanted to. Their tongues met and everything seemed to just melt and then explode around them. The kiss was urgent, needy, and the feel of their bodies against each other made Harry’s blood sing.

“Please tell me you’re not really drunk.” Harry pleaded as he pulled away from Malfoy, gasping for air, “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

Malfoy’s lips trailed Harry’s jaw from his chin to the tip of his ears, hands roving his back until it cupped his bum, squeezing. “A shot of whiskey for courage, and then it was just a prop. I _want_ you, Harry.”

“Good.”

They disappeared with a twist and a pop, and then finally landed on Harry’s bed. The clothes came off fast after that and Harry’s passing thought about their shoes dirtying the bedsheets all but vanished when Malfoy’s skin finally covered his. His gasp mingled with Draco’s groan, and their bodies felt too hot and he was too breathless.

Mouths roamed all over, licking, sucking, biting--Harry found that Draco loved his thighs being bitten--and hands grasped, pulled, and stroked. Harry’s fingers prodded Draco’s hole, willing a lubrication charm on them, to which Draco laughed in amazement and swatted his arm. 

Harry heard Draco murmur, “Of course you can do that wandlessly and non-verbal. Harry Bloody Potter.”

And then he was gasping and his slender hands reached behind him, grabbing at Harry’s bed sheets, and Harry was too aroused to even snipe back as he pushed inside Draco’s tight warmth. He waited for him to loosen up before inserting another, pushing in deep and curling them to make Draco shudder and claw at Harry’s arms.

“Fuck, yes, Potter. There.  _ There _ .”

He pushed and pulled, twisting his slick fingers inside, and he enveloped Draco’s length with his mouth. He felt Draco tense, but a hand tugged on his hair, so he stopped and looked up to see Draco staring at him, struggling to breathe.

“Look at me.” He demanded in a whisper, “ _Fucking hell_. Harry, _fucking_ _look_ at me.”

Harry stared at him as he pumped his fingers in and out, sucking him hard that his cheeks hollowed, and Draco spilled in his mouth, a strained breath leaving his lips. All the while, they never broke eye contact, and Harry felt much too aroused that he stopped moving or else the friction with his sheets will surely be his end.

“Come on, Harry.” Draco pleaded, needy and grabbing at Harry’s face as Harry crawled over to cover him with his body, “I want to feel you exploding inside me. So good, so good.”

“That filthy mouth, Draco.  _ Fuck _ .” Harry snarled, his breaths going harsh and rapid while lining himself up to Draco’s entrance.

Harry pushed, going past that tight ring, and they both moaned at the finality of it. He bent down and began kissing Draco again, slowly pushing all of himself inside. The heat and the slick of Draco was overwhelming, and he felt like he was almost there, almost ready to plunge from the edge. He pulled back and slammed inside again, skin slapping skin, and Draco shuddered at the impact. Their tongues molded against each other, teeth nipping and pulling at their lips. Harry ducked into Draco’s neck and sucked at the skin there, satisfied to see red blotches over his pale skin.

He was fucking Draco faster now, rocking himself to his climax. Draco immediately pushed him back with one hand, but his other kept him still, above him, and stared into Harry’s eyes intently, fiercely. He panted below Harry, and he looked as if he was fighting the urge to close his eyes. As if he didn’t want to miss out anything. Draco was already hard again, flush against Harry’s stomach.

His hair splayed on Harry’s pillow, and Harry bit back a curse, thinking of how good he looked there. Cushioned, panting, wanting. Draco’s nails raked over Harry’s back and shoulders, making Harry hiss in pleasure. He was so close.

“Look at me when you cum, Potter.” Draco demanded through gritted teeth, and Harry had to laugh at that.

“So obsessed with my eyes, you prat. Are we back to last names again?” As he asked, he pulled back far enough to almost slip out of Draco, and then slammed hard into him again.

Draco shouted at the movement, his arousal leaking copiously over his stomach, and his eyes fluttered to a close. He shook his head and ran a hand over his hair, tugging the strands.

“Harry,  _ Harry _ ,” Draco chanted, eyes opening again, pupils dilated so much, “Bloody hell, come inside me. Now.  _ Now, Harry _ !”

There was something in the way Draco commanded him to do so, commanded him but still sounded like he  _ needed  _ Harry to come. Something in the way his hand tightened on his hair and the other one clawing his back. Something in the way he said Harry’s name, like it was both a plea and a curse. Something that was so utterly Draco that gave Harry that final push off the edge, and, at last, he was soaring. He could feel Draco tensing around him, and he felt Draco soaring with him too, cum splashing between their bodies. 

When Harry finally reached the ground, Draco was pushing him off him, and Harry had to squash the disappointment inside. He rolled on his back, jostling his bed a little and catching his breath. Of course he wouldn’t expect Draco to stay after that. This might just be a one-off for him.

But is it just for Harry?

Before he could let his thoughts take over, Harry felt fingers sliding over his neck, and he turned on his side to let Draco nuzzle closer to his body. He waved his hand and a drawer opened, letting a blanket float out and covering their heaving bodies.

“You don’t need to keep showing off, Golden Boy. We already had sex.” Draco murmured, kissing a patch of skin on Harry’s chest. His legs readily intertwined with Harry’s under the covers.

Harry chuckled, rubbing his fingertips on Draco’s scalp, “So you staying means this isn’t a one-off?”

“If you want it to be.”

“And what about you?”

Draco pushed away just a little to glare at Harry, lips pursed in annoyance, “Fucking hell, Potter. I already told you back at the pub that I wanted to go out with you. Didn’t you see me fawning all over you? Get with the program.”

“You did?”

“Yes, when you told me I was drunk, you wanker.” Draco muttered, rolling his eyes, but the blush on his cheeks told Harry that he wasn’t all that smug and irritated.

The memory was a bit hazy, but he remembered, and Harry huffed in disbelief.

“You were asking me in rhetoricals!”

“Again, yes, and everything you need to know are in them.” Draco said vaguely, snuggling into Harry again, “Now do shut up, I want to sleep.”

Harry groaned, burying his nose in Draco’s hair, his words muffled, “It’s going to be a headache, being with you.”

“At least you’re with me now, Potter. Be grateful.”

Harry can only laugh at the sheer wonder of it all, but kissed Draco’s forehead all the same. Yes, at least he was with Draco now. And yes, he was grateful.

But he isn’t going to tell Draco that. Not yet.


End file.
